Forefathers
by rosemarried
Summary: People aren't always who you think they are. A collection of 4 drabbles, 1 for each Founder. Written for the Character Diversity Boot Camp Challenge.
1. The Light in His Eyes

Salazar often walked the halls at night. The cool evening summer air whistled through cracks in the newly carved stone and rustled his thick, grey hair that was just beginning to recede. The left the castle and walked out onto the grounds.

The lake was his favorite spot anywhere in Hogwarts. Even in the day the water was dark and still, concealing its mysteries under the black surface. Not even Godric, who had found this land for their school in the first place, knew what was under there. He refused to go into the lake, but Salazar swam all the time and had never once been attacked or felt threatened. This did not seem to comfort his friend.

He removed his shoes and stood in the shallow water, curling his toes into the rough sand. He stood in peace, watching as the sand spiraled up slowly whenever he moved his feet. He didn't know what enchanted him so about this spot, but from the moment he'd first set foot on this mountain he had loved it. The first chance he got, he stripped off his robes and dove into the lake, much to the amusement of his fellows, who'd never seen him so excited about something like water. He had been a much younger man then. Back then, he'd almost doubted whether their dreams would ever come to fruition, but with the completion of the castle earlier that summer and inquiries about enrollment coming from all over England and Scotland, he was beginning to feel the same excitement as the others.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something struggling in the reeds. He knelt down and picked up a weakly struggling toad, a saw it's back legs had been torn off. He looked down at the reeds, searching to see if it had been struck here, but caught no sign of disembodied legs or blood. Not that it would have mattered if he had. He couldn't do anything for it now.

"Poor thing." he muttered, stroking it's back gently with his thumb. The animal continued to struggle uselessly, as though it did not know that it was about to die. He pitied the poor creature, and decided he could not sit and watch it slowly and painfully pass away in his hand. He put it back on the ground and pulled out his wand. "Avada Kedavra." He murmured, and with a flash of green it was dead. He picked up the tiny body and set it back down again in the lake, which swallowed it into it's own blackness.

"That was a kind thing you did." A voice came from behind Salazar, making him jump. He whipped around to find his old friend Godric Gryffindor watching him with arms crossed, a small smile gracing his lips.

"How long have you been standing there?" He asked, coming out of the water and sliding his still wet feet back into his socks and shoes.

"Long enough." Salazar began back towards the castle and Godric fell into step with him. "I have heard Rowena and Helga speak. They are afraid you are a Dark wizard."

"They said these things to you?" He asked, blinking in surprise.

"Not exactly to me."

"Ah, so you were eavesdropping again." Salazar shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"It doesn't bother you, what they say?" He hesitated before answering Godric.

"I would be lying if I said it doesn't bother me," he said slowly, "but I know Helga. Had she any real concerns, she would have talked to me. And Rowena is smart enough to know that I don't take kindly to people talking behind my back, so the same goes for her."

"That's wise. I'm impressed." Godric said with a grin. "Are you always this forgiving at this time of night?" Salazar grinned back.

"You mean when I've barely slept for 3 days? Yes, I suppose I am." They walked the rest of the way in silence, simply enjoying each others company. They stopped as they reached the grand front doors of Hogwarts castle.

"Can you believe how far we've come?" asked Godric quietly. "Look at what we've accomplished."

"It's breathtaking." Salazar agreed. "Under our tutelage, I know our students will go far." Godric put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Then he looked into his eyes, and held his gaze for a long time. This was more or less the norm. Godric did not have a functioning sense of personal space, and didn't understand what an awkward moment was.

"I've never noticed this," he said suddenly, "but in the moonlight your eyes shine." Then he patted his friend on the shoulder and retreated inside, leaving him slightly stunned. What an odd thing for Godric to say to him. He stared after him for a long moment. Would he ever really understand his good friend? Shaking his head, he too pushed open the great doors, charmed to be light despite their size, and retreated to his own room to try once more to sleep.


	2. A Dark Purpose

Godric ran down the dark cavern, his eyes darting left and right. He'd been careful so far; he'd spotted several traps and managed not to trigger all but one, and the one he had triggered had weakened with age. The poison-dipped arrows that should have shot out of the wall merely clattered to the floor. Not all the traps were physical instead of magical, though, and he knew he would have to be careful.

The walls were twisting and narrow, and his Lumos didn't throw off nearly enough light. He had to stop periodically and cast a revealing charm of his own creation, designed to expose hidden magic, just to make sure. There was some writing on the walls, but he didn't dare try to read it. He'd read of spells in these sorts of places that were activated only if the person read the text, and magical traps tended to stay stronger for much longer.

It took many hours, but finally he reached the burial chamber. Godric was wary of the large, ornamental door. Gold and silver lining etched beautiful abstract designs, but he wasn't fooled. This was the tomb of a great wizard, and any wizard knows that gold and silver are powerful conductors of elf magic. He cast a revealing charm on the door, and true to his instincts and powerful Avada Kedavra made itself known, activated by stepping on a loose stone in front of the door. He cast Alohomora on the door and leaned over the stone to push it open, careful not to touch it at all. Then, with a final cautious look around, he stepped inside.

The coffin lay directly in front of him, a large stone box decorated with runes which Godic averted his eyes. It was plain compared to the rest of the chamber, which was painted with beautiful depictions of the dead man's life and of his triumphs. Godric saw reliefs that varied from brightly colored duels and battles to domestic scenes of he and his family, the dresses of his wife and daughters made with gold sheets and jewels embedded in the rocks to look like necklaces.

It was a shame, he thought as he approached the coffin, that the name of this great man had been lost to the ages. It could be that it was detailed in the archaic-looking runes, or that it could be puzzled out from careful consideration of the scenes, but he was not here on an archeological mission. He examined the coffin carefully, and cast his revealing charm once more. No spells or hexes seemed to be attached to it, but he was still ever-so gentle and careful when he pushed the heavy lid off.

The body inside was no more. Instead lay a skeleton, clothed in well-preserved and royal-looking garments. Jewels that once must have sat on a full head of hair were scattered around his head, and in his hands he gripped the most magnificent sword he had ever seen, shining as though it had been forged only yesterday, the gleaming golden hilt inlaid with rubies. He sucked in a breath as he beheld the magnificent weapon. This was what he had come for, why he had broken nearly every moral he had. It had been said by the Muggles that this sword in this tomb had been a gift from the gods, and that it possessed great powers. Just sitting in its presence, he could feel the aura radiate off of it. Truly, it had been put to great use in its time. And he would put it to much greater use.

Carefully, so as not to damage the bones, the slid the sword from the unnamed king's grasp and held it up in front of him. It was lighter than it looked, and it seemed to sparkle in his wand's light. How radiant he would look marching into Hogwarts, a long line of faithful and eager students behind him, and this sword on his hip. None would look so brave and daring as he. A grin slowly crossed his face and he could barely contain his laugh of joy. He'd barely hoped to dream that he would be able to retrieve it. Part of him didn't believe it existed at all, but now it was his.

"Thank you, man. I'll make sure your sword is honored the way it deserves to be." He bowed respectfully to the skeleton, and used Wingardium Leviosa to reseal his casket. He made sure everything looked just as it had when he entered on his way out; he wasn't completely lacking in manners, after all. Back outside, standing on the ledge, he found a rock and, with much concentration, managed to transfigure it into a scabbard worthy of his fine new sword, and Apparated back to Hogwarts.


	3. Doubt and Insecurity

Rowena squinted at the large sundial in the garden. She stared at it for a moment, then looked up at the sky. She looked back down at the dial. Sighing in defeat, she turned to walk away. Helena exited the garden door and leaned against the house, looking at her. "Are you still having trouble reading the time?" she asked.

Rowena glared at her for a moment, but answered truthfully. "Yes." Helga walked up to her side at the sundial.

"Look." she said patiently, pointing to the shadow cast onto the smooth sandstone. "See this point here? It points toward the forest. When the shadow is here, the time is high noon."

Rowena kept watching Helga as she moved her hands and pointed to other key spots on the sundial, but none of it made sense to her. She groaned, interrupting Helga mid-sentence.

"There's no use in trying to teach me." She said sullenly, turning around and leaning her back against the dial. Suddenly, her expression turned angry. "Why, Helga?" she yelled, frustrated. She pushed a hand through her long, thick hair. "Why can I not do something so simple?"

Helga put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's not as simple as you think. Children spend a long time learning this-"

"And eventually master it." She pointed out. "How am I to lead a group of intelligent young wizards if I cannot get to my own lessons on time?"

Helga frowned. "Rowena," she said gently, "having trouble reading a sundial does not make you unintelligent." Rowena cursed herself for being so obvious. She had not come out and said it, but of course her true emotions had been discovered. Helga had a gift for seeing the things people would rather not admit.

"Of course not." Her voice came out more snappish than she intended. "Why should it hold me back?"

"Now say it with more conviction." Rowena hesitated.

"It will not hold me back." she repeated, but her friend still did not appear to be convinced. "I do believe it! It won't hold me back."

Helga raised an eyebrow. "Then what do you believe will?"

Immediately the sundial came to mind again, and she looked at the sky dejectedly. "I don't know."

"You are the brightest witch I know, far more so than Slytherin or Gryffindor, although they're manly desire to better than us lowly women won't let them admit it." It wasn't often that Helga had anything bad to say at anyone. Rowena giggled, half in humor and half in shock that she would say such things, and about her friends no less. "I don't love them any less for it, but…" she trailed off and tucked a piece of hair that had escaped the loose bun she had drawn it up into. "My point is that you are allowed to have a weakness. And it hasn't hurt you any, has it?"

"Well-" Rowena started, but was quickly interrupted.

"It hasn't. You have always done just fine, even if you aren't certain exactly how long there is until noon-time meal or the exact minute you must be in any one place." This was true, she had to admit. Yet still…

"What would I do if I were to lose that ability? When I become an old woman and my mind is no longer as sharp as it is now and I cannot exist solely on instinct?"

"Then," Helga said, putting her arms around her friend and pulling her in for a tight hug, "You will have friends to help you." Rowena smiled and hugged her back. They stood their for several long moments, swaying gently, each taking comfort in the presence of the other. "Now, why don't we head inside and I'll make you a cup of chamomile tea to calm your nerves?" She hiked up her skirts and marched inside, and after a moment of sullen staring at the time piece she would never understand, she wiped the whole matter from her mind and followed after.


	4. Condemnatory

Helga rolled up her scroll and sighed in frustration, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. Hogwarts had finally begun to feel like a real school, and applications for the second year were practically flying themselves in. Though the first year group had done well, many people had been unwilling to send their children away for a magical education or to pull them out of the institutions they had previously been in abroad, in some cases. Now that word had had time to spread about the quality level of education they provided, the requests and reservations and questions had been pouring in, and not a one of them was able to keep up with it without sacrificing valuable sleep time. It was much more stress than she had initially anticipated.

A knock sounded from the door. "Come in," she called. Rowena pushed it open and raised an eyebrow at the candle stubs scattered on the desk.

"Did you forget that you are a witch?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. Helga rolled her eyes.

"I prefer to work by candlelight." Rowena pulled out a chair and sat. She watched Helga flip through her scrolls and hold them up one by one to the candle to read them for a moment.

"You should sleep." she told her. "You'll get more done tomorrow."

"As well as loose track of all the progress I've made today." She retorted without looking up. Rowena chuckled; Helga had a bit of a reputation around here for forgetting things. The more important the thing, in fact, the more likely she was to misplace the memory. "My lack of sleep is not the only thing weighing on my mind, however."

"What do you mean?"

She sifted through her scrolls for a minute before handing her one. Rowena lit a _lumos _and held her wand between her teeth as she unrolled the scroll. It was a list of applicants, all different ages, with only one immediately apparent thing in common; they all had well-known names, pureblood names.

"What about them?" She said around the wand.

Helga frowned at her, as though it should be obvious. "They're not my kind of students, yet they are applying to study under me." Rowena's face was still blank. "They are Salazar's kind of students." she explained further.

"Perhaps they are not."

"What do you mean?"

Rowena dragged her finger down the list. "Here, this one, and her too. I saw them both on Salazar's own list as well, but he did not want to take them."

Helga frowned, puzzled. "Why not? They have the blood purity he so strongly desires. Godric only barely managed to convince him the world would not end if a few Muggle-born students attended, and I still hear him mutter under his breath about it now and again. I, however, look for a kindness of the heart, a willingness to accept your surroundings. Why should he send his purebloods to me?"

"Pure blood is not all of what our friend Slytherin desires in his students." Rowena explained patiently, setting the scroll aside and leaning forward. She wordlessly put out the light of her wand. "He desires passion and ambition, and cunning. The need to come out on top found buried deep in the souls of those who were raised to believe that they were on top. That, I think, is why Salazar so desires pureblooded children to study underneath him, not because of their wizarding heritage."

"And these children do not possess that?" She shrugged.

"I do not know." She paused for a moment, appearing to gather her thoughts. "Children, especially magical children, are like books. They are all bound in the same dull leather with little to mark them as individuals on the outside. Inside, however, they are all different and beautiful in their own ways. Even two copies of the same manuscript will have differences. As you would never judge the quality of a book by its cover, so too you should never judge a child."

Helga almost looked offended. "I know that. Better than most, I might add." Rowena smiled softly at her.

"Any yet you judge these children by their last names." Before Helga could retort, she patted her hand and quickly exited the room, leaving her friend alone in the soft candlelight with her thoughts.

* * *

**AN: Final chapter! These drabbles were actually a lot of fun to write, and I might resurrect this idea for another set of characters sometime. Hope you all enjoyed!**


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